


Stone by Stone

by Fadefox



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-11 00:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16464833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadefox/pseuds/Fadefox
Summary: There's a party. Fenris is enjoying it immensely.





	Stone by Stone

They had put _shoes_ on him.

That was really the worst part of it.

The shoes themselves weren't even that terrible, fine dark Antivan leather, ornated with silver buckles and studs. "No gold," Varric had said, "we're going with a snowflake obsidian theme here."

'Here' was the rest of his outfit: some probably expensive - obviously he had not spent his _own_ hard-earned money on such an indulgence - black silk ensemble embroidered with ornate patterns in black and silver. The jacket had an odd closure over his right shoulder that had put Fenris on the edge of tearing the whole thing apart upon trying it on: Closing the clasps on his own had proved to be nigh impossible because he _couldn't see them_. Merrill, brave as she was, had intervened upon overhearing him curse the tailor's ancestors in Hawke's kitchen and helped out. She had received a grateful snarl in return and quickly taken her helpfulness elsewhere.

They had heels though, the shoes, small ones but they complicated walking significantly when having his feet enclosed in sturdy leather alone would already have been bad enough.

Shoes were, however, apparently a requirement at the event they were attending: the glorious annual ball hosted by the... the Arl of... Duke... Prince... something. Fenris had already forgotten (or never bothered to remember, if he was being honest) the name of the host who had personally invited Hawke, suggesting the Champion bring along "his most faithful companions". Blissfully unaware that the man surrounded himself with company most would consider criminals by one definition or another.

Fenris was not a people person and, as it turned out, by extension also not a party person. At least there was wine and food to keep him somewhat entertained. He took another bite out of a ridiculously oversized apple, chewing as he looked around in boredom. The fruit was just as over the top as the whole event. Some women's dresses were so wide they struggled with making it through the entrance door, the chandeliers were so overloaded with crystals their light had a hard time reaching the floor and it had been deemed necessary to hire a small orchestra which now occupied one third of the lower hall. It wasn't entirely as bad as the Tevene extravagance he remembered but it was close. At least no one had been bled dry for entertainment purposes yet.

Everyone else appeared to be enjoying themselves. Much to his own surprise Hawke had quickly found himself surrounded by a group of nobles who laughed at his jokes. Either they recognised him as the local go-to hero and hoped to form some useful connection or, far worse, actually thought he was funny. Aveline and Donnic had soon disappeared between the other dancing couples, seeking some time alone. Fenris couldn't help but feel a little betrayed by his friend for abandoning him.

Now he was stuck at an opulently decorated table with the dwarf and, _of course_ , the two mages. Varric was telling some story about another ball he claimed to have once attended: A ludicrous tale about a duchess arriving in the ballroom in a halla-drawn carriage made of glass. Merrill was leaning in close, following his lies attentively, while Anders smirked into a glass of something suspiciously translucent and colourless, clearly not believing a word but amused nonetheless. Isabela had still been with them a moment ago. Fenris wasn't sure where she had disappeared to but he had a feeling the poor Duke... Prince... _something_ would find a few valuables from his collection missing in the morning. Or he wouldn't because he had more than he could keep track of anyway.

He dropped the core of the apple onto his plate with a sigh.

"What's the matter, Broody? Not having fun?"

Fantastic, with Varric's attention he now had that of his former audience as well.

"It is... not my kind of environment."

"Not enough corpses for your taste?"

Fenris narrowed his eyes at the blond mage. "Do not tempt me to add one. I believe it would clash terribly with the other decorations."

Anders rolled his eyes and then occupied himself with his glass of barely flavoured water again.

"There's a lot of people, have you tried talking to some of them? Can't be less interesting company than your friends, the apples," Varric suggested, gesturing at the five apple cores on his plate.

"I... doubt I share many interests with these people."

At least the apples didn't think themselves above everyone else. He had no intention of pretending he was anyone other than he was just because he had been dressed up like he belonged here. An attitude he doubted these people would welcome.

"Good point," Varric mused, throwing a piece of fragrant Orlesian cheese in the air and catching it with his mouth. Across the table, Anders raised a brow in appreciation of his skillfulness.

"You could dance," Merrill chirped happily as if that was actually an option, chin propped up on gloved hands, her elbows on the table expertly displaying her complete lack of manners. The long, forest green gloves made her look 'like a real lady', she had cheered upon receiving them, and everyone else had politely agreed, letting the fact that they also happened to be the perfect length to hide any cuts or scars on her arms go unspoken.

"Right," he grunted.

Varric seemed to think it was an option too.

"Could be fun."

Suddenly Fenris felt a strong need for more wine and reached for the bottle to refill his glass.

"And who do you suggest I dance with, one of these dolled up, walking jewellery displays?"

Not that there was any point in discussing the details.

"I'm sure they'd love to dance with the Champion's handsome, enigmatic friend," the dwarf smirked, "and you wouldn't have to talk to them. Not much at least, they'd be too busy blushing and fluttering their fake lashes at you."

Fenris snorted into his glass before emptying it in one gulp. That kind of attention was really the last thing he needed right now.

"I'll dance with you."

The glass almost toppled over, his hand jerking as he set it back on the table. He hadn't drunk so much he would imagine Anders saying something like that, had he?

"What?"

"Seriously. I'm bored too.”

And he certainly hadn't drunk enough to hallucinate the mage getting up from his seat, smoothing out his pants, then tilting his head at Fenris, holding out a hand.

"You are joking."

"Come on, Fenris," the blond quipped, apparently in a rare good mood, "not everyone can claim to have danced with an _abomination_."

"Damn it Blondie, that's a story that would put even some of mine to shame."

"I have no need to be able to make such claims," Fenris argued, suddenly very uncomfortable with how everyone was looking at him expectantly. He needed to get out of this, and quick.

"...You will just use this opportunity to step on my toes."

Anders retracted his hand and crossed his arms but didn't sit back down, still watching him.

"Not if you're faster and step on mine first."

"I _am_ faster," Fenris declared. Without question.

"Then you have nothing to worry about. Plus, wouldn't that be a lovely way to get the best out of wearing shoes for once?"

There were many reasons to hate the man and Fenris believed he had just found a new one. He was clearly being manipulated but he couldn't deny the mage had a point, that the offer did seem tempting. Damn mages and their tricks.

He scowled at Anders for a moment as if that would somehow make him and thereby the conflict disappear. Seeing the usually bedraggled mage all dressed up like this was strange enough, even when he wasn't asking him to dance. It had bothered Fenris from the moment they had picked him up at his clinic earlier. The unfitting surroundings in Darktown had made it look even more wrong.

At least the rags he usually wore bore some resemblance to mage robes, unlike the short suit jacket this evening. Mages did not belong in pants - but that had been the whole point. Anders had (of course) whined at Hawke's tailor, claiming he really wouldn't mind something "just a little longer", then suggesting that maybe the seam could be let out to make it "a tiny bit more flowing", and as a last resort that "it should probably be combined with a coat". Varric and Hawke himself had finally managed to shut him up with a speech on how not _everyone_ in Thedas had to be able to tell he was an apostate just from the way he dressed. Especially not at an event where the fact was likely to get not only him but all of them in trouble. Anders had spent the rest of the evening pouting and trying to burn holes into Merrill's dress with his eyes. To everyone's relief no actual fires had been started.

If Fenris' theme was 'snowflake obsidian' then Anders' was surely 'mouldy, mossy rock'. Which probably wasn't what Varric had dubbed it but any other title he might have come up with could not describe the combination of greys with touches of white and green any better. At least there were no feathers - probably another thing the mage hated about his outfit.

As his gaze dropped to the mage's shoes he realised he had made his decision. No boots, normal shoes made of thin leather. A unique opportunity. Fenris drew himself up from his seat with a long-suffering sigh, decidedly not looking at anyone so he didn't have to get annoyed at their glee over him giving in.

At least there was no blushing or lash-fluttering to be expected from this dancing partner.

"You will regret this, mage."

Anders chuckled as he trailed alongside him towards the dance floor.

"Make me."

Yes, Fenris fully intended to.

What Anders didn't know was that dancing lessons had been no small part of his training. Danarius had considered it a very fitting way to show off his precious Little Wolf to others in action when threatening them might have resulted in a tactical disadvantage. It was just another way to display the full control he had over his body and Anders was about to find out he could combine graceful movement to music with inflicting pain quite perfectly. The heels would be a challenge but he was confident he would master it, could even use them to his advantage.

First he had to get over his aversion to touch though. He hadn't thought of that issue sooner. The mage's hand on his waist wasn't so bad, not when there was a thick layer of fabric beneath it. Bare hand on hand was another matter. Knowing the man had just had a bath to rid him of all Darktown filth (which was obvious from the way he smelled) helped somewhat. He had even bothered to shave for the occasion. Eventually Fenris stopped fidgeting and allowed his fingers to relax around Anders', huffing at the reassuring brush of a thumb he received in return.

Moments later he discovered that Anders wasn't the only one in for a surprise. As it turned out, dancing experience was one of the few things even Fenris couldn't deny they had in common. Experience, and the ability to turn it into something more than strict, repetitive motions. Fenris forgot to breathe for a moment, too surprised by the sudden shift. From the instant they began the mage's movements fell perfectly into rhythm, pulling Fenris along without even leaving a choice but to follow and fall into step with him, completing Anders' performance with his own, caught between his partner and the flow of music itself. It was something he couldn't break out from, even if he wanted to - not that he necessarily did - feet moving almost on their own accord, no more shying away from but more or less clinging to Anders' hand now, unwilling to allow any fault in their flawless pattern.

All plans of toe-stepping had wandered to the back of his mind, still a distant possibility but far from the certain goal they had been moments ago. Not while they were moving like this, floating between the stiffly staggering couples, weighted down by their expensive twine, golden adornments and unabashed haughtiness, only a few feet from Donnic apologising profusely for, once again, trampling on his wife's foot.

The mage's smirk told him he had anticipated this.

Fenris would punch him.

In his stupid clean-shaven jaw.

Later.

When they weren't for once moving in harmony.


End file.
